


Hurricane Season

by asstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, M/M, ghostiel, started off angsty and ended up fluffy crack, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asstiel/pseuds/asstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's a time-travelling angel on a mission. </p>
<p>Or maybe he's just an asshole who stumbled across a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricane Season

**Author's Note:**

> completely 173% un-beta'd. 
> 
> also I finished this up at like 3 am, so there are bound to be spelling/grammatical/plot errors that I couldn't catch. 
> 
> I'll check it later.

_‘Tropical Storm Roberta will be making landfall by late evening according to NOAA. As always, residents of Bellevue are advised to stay indoors and off the water. There is currently a flash flood watch and gusts are expected to reach up to 72 miles per hour. If Roberta does hit the coast tonight it will be the first time in nearly 60--”_

Dean flicked off the TV. He hated these late in season storms; they were always more trouble than they were worth. The entire population of Louisiana would forget that they had weathered Category 3 storms only two months before and completely flip a shit and buy out the canned food aisle in the supermarkets. Really, Dean figured, this was just going to be a particularly wet and windy night. And there was no way that he was going to let that stop him from exploring the town.

He had only been in the sleepy little town of Bellevue for a couple of weeks and was still pretty much living out of his suitcase until the moving trucks came with the rest of his stuff. So, he had been getting a lot of take out and experimenting with the local bar scene. It wasn’t that exciting. In fact, he was almost positive he had managed to eat at every restaurant three times since he had opened the door to his new apartment.

Grabbing the keys to the Impala, he set off to do something. Even if he just ended up going to the Gas ‘n Sip to get a Slurpee, he had to leave the apartment. The blank white walls made him feel like he was in some sort of mental institution.

The roads were worse than he expected. And as good as his baby was, he was in some serious danger of hydroplaning a couple of times. The rain was coming down in sheets; all traffic was reduced to nearly a crawl in an effort to stay on the road.

As Dean drove through town, everything was closed, not a single light on in the bunch. Soon it was the outskirts of the main strip and still was no sign of life. Not even the McDonalds, which Dean was previously positive would stay open even through the events of a nuclear holocaust. There was only a little sign on the door that read ‘Will Open Once Roberta Packs Up’. But, Dean kept driving, holding out hope for even gas station.

There. Dean peered through the windshield and into the distance. Yep, it was unmistakable. There was a light. At worst it was an accident and at best it was some sort of restaurant. Driving closer to the light, Dean realized that it was a tiny little diner just off the road. Praising the powers that be for his amazing luck, Dean pulled into the parking lot for the diner. Actually, parking lot was a strong term; it was probably more accurately described as a gravel lot.

Turning off the engine, Dean looked through into the diner. It looked open for business, but there were clearly no customers. Well if anything, Dean mused, he’d keep that poor waiter entertained for the night. Sprinting to the building, he threw open the door and darted inside. Grateful to be back in the dry air conditioning, Dean took a look at his surroundings.

Oh god no. It was a 50s themed diner. Sam had dragged him to a place like this before and the staff had been required to sing the daily specials to the customers. He had never felt second degree embarrassment quite like that.

But, he had to admit, as far as themed restaurants went, this one seemed pretty decent. It didn’t seem like the owners were trying that hard. The tables were a worn pink plastic and the chairs seemed to be made out of white vinyl. There was a jukebox in the corner which advertised ‘Today’s Top Hits!’. Deciding that it would be hilarious to blast Lil’ Wayne in a family friendly restaurant, Dean dug a quarter out of his pocket and flipped through the available albums. Apparently when the owners of the jukebox made the sign, they were being a little generous. Most people would classify the songs as ‘oldies’, Dean would classify them as albums that should be burned and/or buried at sea. The Coasters? Little Richard? Jerry Lee Lewis? Buddy fuckin’ Holly? It was like a memorial of where good music went to die.

The opening of the kitchen door interrupted Dean mid-internal rant. A man around Dean’s age had exited the kitchen and was staring at Dean like he had just pissed on the Mona Lisa or something. The guy was dressed like a jerk, a soda jerk that is, complete with the little bow tie and everything. Apparently this place was really committed to authenticity.

Dean offered a smile in hopes of wiping the gob smacked expression off of the guy’s face. “Jukebox is a little dated, huh?”

The man’s mouth opened and worked like he was trying to speak, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Finally he managed to spit out, “The music was just updated last week. The new Elvis record is on there.”

“New?” Dean asked incredulously. “What, did he raise from the dead for a comeback tour?”

The man opted to remain silent.

Dean held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, man. I gotcha. Your boss is watching, right? Got to stay committed to this whole yesteryear thing.”

Radio silence.

Obviously this guy was a little touchy about the jukebox. “Okay, okay, okay. What do you guys have to eat around here anyways?”

The man pointed at the menu board above the soda bar. There were four items on the menu, cheeseburger, fries, fountain soda or a root beer float. Whatever, Dean could get down with that. It’s not like he really needs anything green in his diet anyways.

Making his way to the counter, Dean plopped down on one of the bar stools. No use taking up a booth on a night like this, plus at the bar he could harass the jerk to his heart’s desire. “I’ll have the works.”

The man nodded and continued to stare at Dean like he’d like nothing better than to wring his neck.

“What’s your name, anyways?”

“Cas.”

“He speaks!” Dean grinned and leaned slightly forward on his stool. “So how much is this gonna cost me?”

Cas thought about it for a split second. “75 cents.” And then nodded, like he was pleased with his math.

Dean balked at the price. “Are you guys doing some sort of promotional gig? Some sort of throwback deal?” He questioned with no response from Cas. Unless you counted looking considerably more constipated a reaction. “A hurricane special?”

Cas looked outside as if genuinely noticing for the first time that it was raining cats and dogs. “So that’s why.” He said quietly.

“Why what?”

“Why you’re here.” Cas made an aborted gesture to the diner. “There’s a tropical storm.”

“Well, yeah, man.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re the only place open for miles. Maybe in the whole state. Who knows?”

While Cas busied himself with the soda, Dean got a better look at the guy. He had dark messy hair that looked entirely at odds with the rest of his crisp and clean ensemble. Dean didn’t think that he meant for it to stick up at all ends, it just seemed to grow that way. Everywhere. He was pretty attractive, Dean decided an entirely not-creepy-stalker-customer way. And had a quiet intensity that almost stifled the air in the room. If Dean was poetic he would call it ‘otherworldly’. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

And since it was an impossibility for Dean to not hit on somebody within ten minutes of meeting them, exhaustive studies had been made, Dean started to hit on Cas not so subtlety. “So,” he began conversationally “it looks pretty tiring moving that handle around. Or are you used to it from practice?” Not his best effort, but hey, tropical storms take it out of everybody. Can’t expect to be on your A-game 24/7. Who was he, Bruce Wayne?

Cas gave him a look that could curdle milk. And Dean would have stopped, if he hadn’t seen the faint blush creep up on the tips of Cas’ ears. Success.

Dean leaned closer still, his ribs pressed up against the counter and his hands propping up his chin. “I’ve been known to jerk it.” He said sweetly, nodding slightly to the fountain. “What about you, Cas? Would you like to see me jerk it? I’ve been told I’m pretty good.”

The flush spread down Cas’ neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his freshly starched shirt. His eyes darted around as if expecting to see somebody else in the deserted diner. “You should be careful-” Cas paused, obviously at a loss for a name.

“Dean.”

Cas nodded. “Dean. Folks don’t take kindly to that sort of talk ‘round here. This ain’t New Orleans.”

At first Dean had thought that Cas was some Yankee who had travelled south as some sort of cultural experience, but when Cas made ‘New Orleans’ sound closer to ‘New Awlins’ he knew he had found himself a good ole boy. Louisiana born and bred.

“I don’t know about that Cas.” Dean skeptically. “Nobody has given me any problems.”

“Sodomy is a sin.” Cas hissed, but he didn’t seem particularly worked up about it. Just like if he was telling Dean that there was once a war between the states or that you shouldn’t drink chocolate milk before going on a rollercoaster called ‘The Twister’.

“Sodomy is a town in Mississippi.” Dean said easily, turning slightly on the barstool. “Gotta lighten up, Cas. This is the 21st century.”

“For you.” Cas said softly, but before Dean could respond Cas placed a piping order of burger and fries in front of him. And it smelled like Jesus.

“Seven Hells, Cas!” Dean exclaimed through a mouthful of burger. “This is amazing! I haven’t had a burger this good since I left Kansas.”

Cas just hummed in appreciation and wiped down the already spotless counter, apparently seeing dirt that was invisible to the naked eye. The diner was quiet besides the quiet crooning coming from the jukebox and once or twice when Dean almost choked on his meal. Soon, the basket was empty and Dean was in no hurry to leave. It was still raining like hell out and he had nowhere to be except for his empty apartment.

Surprisingly, Cas was the first one to break the silence. “What do you do, Dean?”

“Pharmaceutical Sales.” He held up his hand. “And before you say anything, yes, I know it’s a chick’s job. But I’m just as pretty and twice as mean.” Dean grinned toothily. “I got transferred from Baton Rouge.”

After that, Cas opened up a little bit more. A couple of times it looked like he was choking on his own words, but he didn’t seem to lose his train of thought. Dean learned that he grew up as a farm boy, which was giving all sorts of inappropriate thoughts, and eventually moved into town when the farm wasn’t enough. Dean took this as he wanted to have the freedom to cruise for dick, but Cas clearly wasn’t as crass as Dean was.

He mentioned something about saving up, but sounded like he had already given up on the dream. Like it was predestined or some shit.

Hours passed and Dean told Cas about Sammy and his nerd ways, how his dad was getting grumpier with every year and how his mom could still kick anybody’s ass from here ‘til Sunday.As the night passed, Cas smiled more easily and stopped censoring his quiet laughs.

It was five minutes before ten when Cas just seemed to turn off. He completely ignored Dean, instead opting to place the chairs on the tables and close up shop. Taking this as some strange personality quirk that he had stumbled across, Dean ignored it and opted to finish his now warm root beer float.

The bell above the door tinkled, and Dean heard a pair of wet footsteps walk in. Cas didn’t even bother to look up from his mopping.

“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will, Castiel.”

Cas’ head snapped up, he clearly recognized the man’s voice.

Dean had never seen the guy in his entire life. He didn’t know whether it was his tired eyes playing tricks on him, or the dust in the air, but the man’s edges were fuzzy. Like a TV with broken rabbit ears or a bootlegged movie.

“Leave, Teddy.” Cas said calmly, only his eyes betraying his fear.

A smirk was Teddy’s only answer. He approached slowly, as if cornering a wild animal.

_Hey man, Cas said to beat it._ Is what Dean meant to say, but nothing would come out. This was Not Good. Capitals necessary. It was like he wasn’t even there, just an audience for this twisted improv.

“Teddy.” Cas tried again, his voice attempting a reasonable tone. “You don’t want to this. Go drive home to Marla.”

Teddy seemed to relish this change in conversation. “Maybe I will, Castiel. I’ll go home and sleep with my wife. Where’s your wife Castiel?” Not waiting for an answer, Teddy plowed on. “Looks mighty queer for a man your age not to have a gal.” He tapped his forefinger to chin in a mockery of deep thought. “Queer’s a good name for it. Ain’t it?” Teddy laughed a short cruel laugh at a joke that Dean personally didn’t find humorous in the slightest. “I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at the other boys, Cassie. Don’t lie to me.”

Cas remained silent, but seemed to be holding the mop in a death grip.

“That’s right, play dumb. Quiet Castiel, what a nice young man.” Teddy cooed, still advancing on Cas. “If only they knew.” He spat on the floor. “What you think about when you’re alone. Dirty thoughts. Sinful thoughts.”

Dean’s head was spinning. What the fuck was going on?

Cas, to his credit, wasn’t panicking, and instead moving closer and closer to the bar. Smart, Dean thought, putting some space between him and Teddy.

Suddenly, Teddy decided he was done talking and lunged at Castiel. A blade that had been hidden in his sleeve appeared, Cas’ eyes lighting up in recognition a beat too late. Blood blossomed on his previously impeccably white shirt, and wide eyes of disbelief looked up at Teddy.

“Shit.” Teddy mumbled and then was gone. He didn’t even run to the door, just flickered out like a candle. Later Dean would compare it to Princess Leia’s hologram, but in the moment the only thing running through his mind was a steady stream of expletives.

And just like that, he was unglued from his seat and his voice worked again. Dean rushed over to Cas who had slumped over on the floor, his blood mixing with the dirty mop water. Cas, like Teddy, was losing his color and Dean had the weird sensation of his hand going straight through Cas’ shoulder. Before he could really come to grasp with the fact that he had gone through Cas as if he was made of smoke, he was gone. Cas was simply gone. Only the bloodstained mop remained.

Frantically, Dean pulled out his phone and called the emergency line.

“Bellevue Emergency Services, what’s your emergency?” A curt woman’s voice asked.

“Hi, shit.” Dean stumbled over his words, trying to find a way to summarize the events without sounding batshit. “A man was stabbed at the dinner off of Terrace Ave.”

“Uh-huh.” The woman didn’t sound convinced. “This didn’t happen at Moe’s, did it?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s the place.”

“24 year old Caucasian male? Slight build? 5’11’’ and 170 soaking wet? Black hair and blue eyes?”

Dean paused. “Yes? Wait, how did you know about this?”

“Only get this goddamn call from ijits like you every time a cloud so much as passes over Bellevue. Now you go home son and let poor Castiel Martin rest in peace.” The line went dead.

That was not the way that the conversation was supposed to go. Dean was sure of it. He tried calling a couple more times but each time the operator hung up on him after realizing who it was.

Dean was at a loss. The mop seemed to have wandered off somewhere within the last couple of minutes, because Dean was suddenly alone in a spotless diner with some Elvis song playing in the corner. So, he got his stuff and got the hell out of there and decided to Google the shit out of ‘Castiel Martin’ as soon as he got home.

The results were…Not reassuring. The name popped up a couple of matches, the first option being a graduate student’s thesis on the history of LGBT relations in the great state of Louisiana. Thanks to his best friend CTRL + F, Dean was able to find Castiel’s name quickly.

_‘Castiel Martin, born on April 14th1933 to Harold and Linda Martin of Bellevue, LA, is perhaps one of the most famous examples of gay persecution in mid-century Louisiana.’_

Hold up. Back up. 1933? Dean choked on his own spit. He kept reading.

_‘On a summer night in 1957, during a rainstorm, Martin was working the closing shift at the local diner when he was approached by a neighbor. According to testimonies, it was known around town that Martin did not enjoy the company of women but his sexuality was still unknown. The man who came to the diner at approximately 9:55 in the evening, Teddy Hasler, had been known to make disparaging remarks towards Martin’s ‘pansy’ ways._

_Hasler attests that the two talked and Hasler became worked up, ultimately stabbing Martin once with a switchblade. Martin was declared dead on scene.’_

Hunched over his laptop on the bare floor of his living room, Dean felt like the room was spinning. None of this was making any sense. He had seen Cas murdered. With his own two eyes, which, like the rest of his body, were very much in 2012. He had used a cell phone for fuck’s sake seconds after Cas was stabbed.

And in a Google search he would deny to his dying day, Dean typed in ‘Is Castiel Martin a diner ghost?’. But like all dumb internet searches, it was extraordinarily successful and brought endless semi legit sources to the surface. All of which told essentially the same story, that Cas was killed in the diner and his ghost haunted the building on rainy nights and was doomed to relive his death for the rest of eternity or at least until the end of hurricane season. One of the sites had a different spin on the story, that Cas’ curse could be broken if a special someone ‘used gay love to pierce through the veil of death and save the day’.

Dean checked the forecast for the rest of the week, all rain. He had until Saturday to help stop Cas’ reruns of the worst moment of the man’s life.

As soon as the sun would go down every night, the lights would flicker on in the old diner and a lone server would work the soda bar. For three nights, Dean chatted with Castiel, fought with Castiel, and did anything to get a rise out of him. And every night at exactly 10:02 on the dot, Cas literally flickered out of existence. Dean was starting to lose hope. The police were zero help because he couldn’t exactly ask them to help Cas move on or whatever and the few people Dean had emailed in a moment of weakness suggested prayer circles, aromatherapy and crystal healing. Which, no.

And the worst part was Dean couldn’t abandon the stoic ghost. He even hated calling him a ghost. Apparition was wrong, because Cas was very much a solid being until 9:55. And so, Dean just called him Cas. Even if he had to reintroduce himself every night.

On Friday night, Dean was starting to lose it. Watching Cas die four times was bad enough, knowing that it was on an indefinite loop was a million times worse. And so at 7:32 on Friday he showed up a little drunk and a lot frustrated. And being the well-adjusted adult that Dean was, he knew just the way to get over his issues. By getting under somebody else. Heh.

He spent the first hour of the evening taking hearty swigs from his flask and leering at Cas who looked more and more uncomfortable by the second. But it wasn’t until Dean literally hopped over the bar, did something change.

Dean’s cell phone fell out of his pocket. And Cas couldn’t look away from the bright little screen on the scuffed linoleum floor.

“What is that Dean?”

“’S my phone.”

“Where’s the cord? And the dial?”

“Don’t need ‘em.” Dean picked up the phone and handed it to Cas while pushing forward so they were only a few inches apart. But Cas barely noticed, he was enraptured by the phone.

Castiel whispered something inaudible.

“Gotta speak up, Cas.”

“Are you an angel?”

Dean had a stroke of brilliance. “Sure.”

“Are angels usually so…” Cas gestured to Dean’s body.

“Drunk?” Dean supplied.

“Handsome.”

Dean grinned widely. "Nope, only me. Everybody else looks like the back end of a horse. You really lucked out, man. Got the most attractive angel in the whole stratosphere.”

Cas flushed. His eyes darted between the phone and Dean’s face and then to the floor. Dude was getting himself all worked up.

“Why do I deserve to be saved by an angel, Dean? I have sinned. I deserve this hell.” He gestured around himself to the empty diner. “It is my fate to live my night over and over until the end days.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes, barely. “Dude, Cas. Killing someone is a way bigger no-no than liking the dick. Trust me, I’d know. I am an angel.” He threw out his arms. “And besides? Do you think the big guy would let one of his angels do guys if he had a problem with it? Me either.”

“You are a homosexual?”

Dean groaned. “How about you say it in the least sexy way possible, Cas. But yeah, I like dudes.”

And apparently for quiet, sweet Castiel that was all he needed to know. Because Dean suddenly had an armful of warm, solid, very much not ghostly, Castiel. His hands were everywhere and Cas’ mouth was placing hot wet kisses along Dean’s neck. And Dean could get on board with this very quickly.

“I’ve waited so long.” He murmured into Dean’s chest, warm breath puffing through Dean’s t-shirt. “I felt too strange for too long. So afraid.”

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s almost over. Just a little bit longer.”

Right on cue, the front bell tinkled and heavy boots stomped in.

“Who the hell are you?”

Well. That was different. Dean turned slightly to the door, and Teddy was staring at the two of them. Cas made a move to separate, but Dean only pulled him in closer.

“I’m an Angel of the Lord. My name is Dean..ius. And Cas is my boyfriend, so beat it because I’m not into the whole voyeurism scene.”

Teddy’s mouth opened and shut like a fish gasping for air.

“I’m serious, bud. I will unleash the wrath of the heavens if you don’t go home to Marla and forget this thing ever happened.” A fortuitous clash of thunder sealed the deal.

Teddy blinked out of sight.

And Cas was still there. Very much alive. Or dead. Or whatever. Dean glanced at the clock on the wall, 10:03. That was…Strange. Weirder still, the rain had stopped outside. Yet, Cas was still wrapped in his arms. The diner was changing around them however. The paint peeled from the walls, the vinyl seating cracked and the barstools rusted. It was aging. Making up for over 50 years of dilapidation in minutes.

“So, I guess you’re sticking around.” Dean said conversationally. “Welcome to 2012, dude. Don’t worry, I have cable.”

Dean would have to tell those guys online that it looked like he found the way to de-ghostify people while getting kickass boyfriends. All those nerds were gonna be so jealous.


End file.
